Dereliction of Duty
by Lavode
Summary: Bill Collins acts without thinking, which has some unexpected consequences.


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Dereliction of Duty

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(DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to their respective creators, not to me. Archive and MST the fic as much as you like, just let me know, please. Cheers.)

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I must be crazy.

Bill Collins pauses to take a deep breath and push the wet hair out of his eyes. Air, finally. You don't really appreciate it on dry land. Damn, she's heavy! 

Carefully, he sets the limp woman down on the grass. There's a sort of grove here, about a hundred yards from the highway. He stretches, nursing his poor back. Why did he risk his life for _her_?

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It's just how I was brought up, he answers himself._ The little fact that she's a crazy Russian killing machine doesn't matter, she's a woman. Can't let her drown._

Some tough cop he is. Well, too late to worry about whether he did the right thing. Now what? He looks at Radinov. She hasn't moved. She _is_ breathing, right? Right?

He leans down and puts his ear to her chest. 

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Whew. She is. It doesn't sound like she's breathed in any water, but he moves her head into a better position anyway, so she'll get more air. Her face is bruised. 

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If your car explodes and then falls into a lake, you're pretty lucky to get away with a few bruises. Sitting up, Bill remembers the feel of her breasts against his cheek and turns a bit red. 

She could wake up any minute now, so he pulls her coat off - there's a whole arsenal in that thing! - and locks her hands behind her with a pair of handcuffs. She's breathing easily now; he begins patting her down for more weapons. There are two long knives only in her boots, and he's not sure that's all. His gun seems to have gotten lost in the lake. The coat and boots get to join it there.

Hmm. Those ribs could be broken, better take a look. 

The wet cloth is easy work for his pocket knife, and Bill tests the area lightly with his fingers. Radinov's skin is damp and white, maybe a bit too cold. Well, they just came up from the lake. She'll be okay. There's a contusion here, but nothing soft enough to be broken. Soft? Radinov is a hard woman. Scary.

But she feels so soft under his hands.

A sudden roar jerks his head up; Radinov is staring at him, her eyes wide with fury. Her left earlobe is gone, but there's no blood. He doesn't understand one of the words she's spitting at him - Russian - but it isn't that hard to guess. 

"Hey, calm down, I was just trying to -"

Her foot thuds into his stomach, driving the air out of his lungs. As Bill folds forward, there's a _whoosh _of air against his cheek - the next kick just missed his head . Damn, what was he thinking with? His elbow? He has to get up, get his gun out. Oh, right. He lost it.

How did she get to her feet that quick with her hands tied behind her? She kicks again - a quick dodge. He stumbles - he's falling, landing on her. 

And suddenly she's just not there. He rolls heavily onto the ground as Radinov twists her body out from under him. Damn, she's strong! He grabs her quick, before she can get up again. Now she's on top of him! He can hardly move - the woman must weigh two hundred pounds! - but then he looks up and sees death in her cold blue eyes. She's smiling at him, almost playfully, a cat smiling at a mouse. Where's Rally Vincent when you need her?

"It was you", Radinov says. 

Bill's question is cut short by warm lips against his. She's kissing him. Kissing?! Her lips pull at his, forcing them open, and, wide-eyed, he finds himself kissing her back. Her tongue moves over the inside of his mouth, tangling with his. She means business - you'd think she wanted to sleep with him. She doesn't, of course. Does she? 

"Well?" Radinov suddenly demands. "American men like to sleep with Russian women, as long as they do not have to pay. Don't you?"

Is she reading his mind?

"Uh, I don't - I'm - I'm supposed to arrest you." Natasha Radinov's face just doesn't belong on the warm woman whose legs are wrapped around his. He doesn't want to have sex with this psychotic woman, but his body is responding to her.

"You can't", she states, with a small smile of triumph. Her teeth look sharp. "You will be here, with me. Don't try to run."

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Don't count on that, lady. Pushing his hands against the ground, Bill tries to heave himself up, get out from under her, but his feet are cut out from under him with a sweep of her leg, and _thud_! He's back on the ground with her lying on his chest. Still smiling. She _wants_ to sleep with him, and he's not sure he can stop her. He is _not_ going to panic. His eyes close as a tongue draws a warm trail over the side of his neck, then open wide at the sudden flash of pain. She bit him, the psycho! He touches the spot, and his fingertips come away red. 

"_Hey! _What are you, a freakin' vampire or - Get off! Just get off of me and no one gets hurt!" He tries to push her away, but the press of her knee in his crotch stops him. Just a press, but promising more next time.

"Do what I tell you, and no one _dies_. Take off your pants." 

Radinov quickly rolls down from him and sits on the grass. Not wanting to die just yet, Bill starts to unzip them and slowly pulls them off, very much aware of her hungry gaze. Damn the woman, she's enjoying his embarrassment! He fumbles with the shirt buttons. Why didn't he take any extra gun today? He'll always carry a spare...if he gets out of this alive. The shirt slaps wetly to the ground, and the rest follows.

"And mine", she says, plopping down on her back and stretching out her long legs. She stays that way while he pulls at her clothes hurriedly - her impatient look is making him nervous, even with her hands tied behind her. That knife must have fallen here, somewhere, but he can't see it. Hopefully she didn't take it.

"Take away these handcuffs." They're all she's wearing, now, except the bra; he feels warm...flustered...at the sight. Her body is white against the green grass. _Can't believe I'm doing this._

"Nope. I'm not _that_ crazy."

Radinov spreads her legs into a V. 

A challenge, Bill thinks. She's daring him to get closer, to enter her - or is that look supposed to be seductive? Her eyes harden, and he quickly steps in and lies down on her, almost stumbling. She must be able to feel his heart thumping.

He slides into her with surprising ease, and hears himself sigh. She's so close, all warm and alive around him, closer than he ever wanted her.

But he wants her now.

He draws back, then sinks into her again, deeper. She's closed her eyes, lifting herself to meet him halfway; somehow she doesn't scare him now, without that steely blue stare. Her stomach rises softly against his with each breath. She wants him, too. Why?

He strokes her neck, and suddenly she lifts her head and catches his mouth with hers. Her tongue darts around inside and attacks his like she's going to eat him; Bill distantly hopes she won't. But she tastes nice. Warm, maybe just a bit sweet. Woman.

That piece of cloth under his chest is starting to annoy him. He moves his hand around a bit, then finds the lower edge of her bra and pulls it up; it settles down with a snap. Soft breasts against his skin - much better. He strokes them for a while, kneading lightly, and she moves her body against his. So smooth. He wants to feel her, all of her, and his hands move along her sides, over her ribs and up to her shoulders, tracing every curve and hollow. She groans, deep in her throat - Oops. She had a contusion there, better be careful.

"Sorry." Bill is a bit surprised at how out of breath he sounds. The sun is warm on his back, and he realizes he's sweating. No answer. 

Her head is off to one side, her mouth half open, moaning softly for each time they rock together. She's almost beautiful. He kisses her again, lightly this time, then moves down to kiss her neck; she smells faintly of sweat. Her pulse, steady under the soft pale skin. They meet and part, again and again, until heat begins to seep into him, heat from her heat and slickness, and light swirls wonderfully in his head, filling his body and then his mind, searing his brain. A beautiful death.

Bill opens his eyes, wondering when he closed them. Still alive. 

Natasha Radinov under him - maybe he won't stay alive much longer. She's catching her breath, too. Her eyes are thoughtful.

"I liked you."

"Uh, thank you." "_Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Now let's get back to the station." _What will the guys say? Can you arrest someone after you just had sex with her?

He realizes he's still in her, and hurriedly pulls out. God, what if she gets pregnant? What if _he_ gets arrested? They already took him off the case because it looked like he was the one who let Radinov in the safe house, and now... He'd be damn lucky to get away with dereliction!

He looks around for his clothes while trying to keep an eye on her, but she doesn't move.

His clothes are still damp, and more than a little disheveled - he's going to look like a bum.

Still, it's better than being naked. He balances on one foot, pulling his pants back on....

And the sun suddenly goes black.

The ground is hard against Bill's face. He looks up, and the sunlight hits him like a blow. 

Sitting up takes about a week; his head feels like it might just explode at any moment. No sudden movements. Radinov.

She's gone - surprise, surprise! - and so are her clothes. How long has he been out? Oh well, no point in looking for her. 

Bill massages his forehead. Why didn't she kill him? Probably she thought she had. _Bitch._

Her smell. Her movements. The feel of her skin, and her hair, and her desire for him. 

He'd felt drunk.

He should have known sleeping with Natasha Radinov would mean the hangover of the century.

Groaning, he staggers to a stand and almost trips over the pants around his feet. At least now he won't have to explain to the boss just what he'd been doing with her. That makes him feel better; he even starts to whistle a bit as he buttons his shirt, but stops at once, wincing.

He makes his way towards where he left the car - he has a report to finish, no, about fifty of them, and for once he's looking forward to it. Peace and quiet is what he needs. No Russians, no women. And maybe a beer.

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Well, so much for heroism. 


End file.
